


snapshots

by mouthbites



Category: B1A4
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-06
Updated: 2016-04-06
Packaged: 2018-05-31 15:04:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6475027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mouthbites/pseuds/mouthbites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a collection of unrelated shinchan shortfics</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. rain

**Author's Note:**

> all crossposted from [tumblr](http://mouthbites.tumblr.com/)

It’s dark by the southern horizon. A bank of clouds, tall and blue-grey like new tarmac, is rising like a chain of rounded, misty mountains before them, over the lawn and the football field. They are approaching. Mountains don’t approach. There is a deep rumbling, far away, like from within, the sky or the earth. The mountains are growling at them. (Mountains don’t growl.)

“It’s okay,” Chanshik says, toeing himself in loops on the swing, just barely big enough to fit him. He twists, and is twisted back. “It’ll pass. It won’t be anything.”

 

 

Then run through the rain as scattered drops, fat and heavy on their arms and shoulders and the thighs of Chanshik’s jeans, turns into pouring, hurling, surging; water hammering steadily down in a steep angle, clattering against the ground, wheezing through the air, the wind here and there throwing irregular, spray-like bursts in their faces.

They’re both already soaked to the bone when they dive into a roofed bus-stop shelter down the road. The world lights up for a split moment, as if photographed by a gigantic camera, and Dongwoo counts to one-hundred-and— and then comes the sudden, air-splitting, furious thundering roar.

They glance sheepishly at each other when they realize they both had startled. You forget that it can be so loud. It’s like an explosion going off, a huge bomb, something shot from the barrel of a futuristic tank, enormous, for enormous wars. Maybe this is like war, Dongwoo thinks. He pictures it, fire around them, screams and the sounds of airplanes, Chanshik and him, searching for someplace safe. He can feel the fear, the shadow of it. That’s what’s different. He’s not actually scared.

Chanshik stands with a hand on the glass, looking out over the grass field, or what he can see of it. Maybe he’s watching the rivers of water running down on the other side, peppered with hard, splashing droplets. It comes from there, the wind and the rain hitting the back wall, but you still get wet if you stand too close to the front opening. The hut is small, just enough for two. When Chanshik moves there is a wet handprint on the inside of the glass.

“Well,” Chanshik says and sits down on the bench, which is not quite enough for two, but maybe, if you really wanted. If you didn’t mind sitting very close. “Turns out it would be something.” He strokes his hand over his upper arm, both equally wet, just smearing water around. His skin is growing goose-bumps. His arms, usually tanned and toned in that late pubescent way, look pale and thin in the odd, clouded half-dark. He’s just wearing a tank-top, loose before and now clinging to his ribs with water, and his faded jeans shorts suddenly look dark and newly-dyed. He makes a noise, a hiss, inhalation through his teeth, his fingers grab around his elbows and his left heel starts to bounce.

“It’ll be over soon,” Dongwoo says, wiping water hanging off his nose and on his upper lip with his sleeve. He’s wearing a sweater with a hood. He feels like offering it, but of course it’s wet as well. His t-shirt underneath isn’t very dry either.

There is another flash and another dark scream of thunder, almost simultaneous, just nearby. Dongwoo watches the way Chanshik’s shoulders jerk up at the noise. Chanshik’s finger are whitening. He’s the kind of person whose hands tend to be cold. Dongwoo has warm hands, always. They tend to be sweaty, while Chanshik’s are always dry. It doesn’t matter now, though.

Dongwoo thinks about putting his hand on Chanshik’s arm, both wet, but one warmer than the other. It would be so easy, just to put it there. He wants to. His hands wants to. Maybe it would help, maybe it would warm him. Maybe he could warm Chanshik up. He could offer.

Maybe they could sit together on that small bench, sit very close, huddle together, arm against arm, and warm each other up.

(He thinks about his nose, his lips maybe, on Chanshik’s skin, his shoulder, his neck. The wet, against his nose, wet skin, cold, but heating up. Chanshik turning towards him, like making a room, in the rain and the thunder, their faces, close together. Rain between his lips, he can taste it.)

Dongwoo puts his hands in his pockets, leans his shoulder against the glass and looks out at the streaming water. He catches the next flash, branching out in white and violet. The thunder is a moment late this time.

It’ll be over soon.


	2. night

when dongwoo has showered he puts on his glasses and ties the hair on the top of his head into a pony-tail. it’s really ugly, standing right up and flopping about when he moves, and the hair at his temples and neck hangs limply down, damp still but in the process of growing dry and frizzy, kind of stiffly voluminous in the way dongwoo’s hair gets when he doesn’t do anything with it.

chanshik wants to sneak up behind him and pull the tie out when he’s not looking, partially because he knows how it would make dongwoo protest, half hyung-like and half pathetic.

even though he’s older, there’s an air about dongwoo that makes chanshik think that if they were in the same class at school, chanshik would probably pick on him.

it’s not like that, though. he likes dongwoo.

he grabs at dongwoo’s arms instead, because dongwoo doesn’t mind touching. when they high-five, dongwoo’s fingers grab on to chanshik’s, and hold them for a moment, slips them out slowly, like carefully.

dongwoo’s two-years-older hyung-arm, hard inside and soft around, the small rise of his bicep, the sharp elbow, the tendons on top of his hand which is growing into a man’s. his wide shoulder and the hair lying against his neck.

 

 

dongwoo’s still awake when chanshik climbs into his bed late at night. it’s almost black in the room, but chanshik can see the blurry form of his head, lifting and turning, like a slightly more compact darkness against the thinner black of the wall, pale grey in daylight.

“what are you doing?” dongwoo breathes at him.

“nothing,” chanshik whispers back.

he slides down next to him, under dongwoo’s sheets, his front to dongwoo’s back. he fumbles his hand up, finds the top of dongwoo’s head and feels, with satisfaction, that the pony-tail is gone. he draws his fingers through dongwoo’s hair, not in the light way, but not firm enough to hurt.

“is it okay?” he asks, tucking his arm over dongwoo’s waist, his nose in dongwoo’s hair, breathing on dongwoo’s neck.

“what?”

“this.”

“yeah. sure.”

it’s not the first time, but it’s not so common that he shouldn’t ask.

they lie quiet for a while, resting in the lack of definition, until chanshik’s fingers come under dongwoo’s shirt and over the bare skin of his stomach, not far from the edge of his pants.

dongwoo laughs then, in the most muted way, just a strong exhale through his nose. twists over, grabs onto chanshik’s arms and all but man-handles him onto his other side.

“if you’re gonna sleep here, i wanna be the big spoon.”


	3. gym

ten thirty on saturday night, the gym showers are empty.

dongwoo, with saggy face and back more hunched than usual, drags his feet over the tiles and chanshik, who came in two minutes later, catches up with him just there and slaps dongwoo’s ass with his rat-tailed towel. dongwoo whinges at him. chanshik cackles.

dongwoo takes the second stall from the left and chanshik the third. twin sprays, hot water streams down over tendered muscles, slowly steam rises.

when chanshik is finished he stands by the line of hooks and half-heartedly dries himself, watching dongwoo in his stall. he stands back turned, face in the pour, combing his hair back with his fingers. it looks black and silky, a little longer than usual, molding along his neck, following the water, down. spine, low back, thighs. chanshik rubs his armpit with his towel and thinks about the low grunts dongwoo makes when he lifts heavy. tenth or fifteenth repetition, getting short of breath.

slowly dongwoo circles around. rubs over his face with his hands and then opens his eyes, catches chanshik looking. 

chanshik dries his hair. not breaking eye-contact. they take their time. 

slowly, dongwoo starts smiling.


	4. beach

the sun stands high in the clear blue sky. sweat trickles down forehead and neck, thighs burn on the up-hills. tires bump over gravel and down holes. the road is barely two bikes wide, cutting through wide waving fields bathing in the glow of the early august sun.

the beach smells of sand and pinecones, the warm sweetness of forest mixed with water’s fresh breeze.

they change without bothering to cover themselves because they are the only ones there.

it’s not big, but the lake is blue and jeweled with a wide streak of diamond sparkles, dancing on the small waves, gathering closer and closer southwards to a carpet of nearly pure white, almost painful to the eye.

chanshik hops over the soft pale sand, hot under naked feet, hisses at the water hitting his legs and throws himself in before he has time to change his mind. he comes back up sputtering and alive. dongwoo has barely made it past his knees. chanshik takes a deep breath and shoots away under the surface, inwards, running his fingers over the ridges rippling the hard sand. the reflections of the waves above him paint them in a jiggling pattern, an uneven mesh tied from golden thread, dancing and twisting as if trying to get loose.

a pair of feet curling their toes appear ahead of him and chanshik resurfaces. dongwoo stands thigh-deep with his arms wrapped around himself and whines; “i’m not sure i want to do this anymore.”

chanshik laughs and splashes at him.

they swim out, when dongwoo finally has gathered enough courage and dunked himself, till they can barely reach the bottom anymore. chanshik puts his arms around dongwoo’s neck in the water and kisses him until they almost sink.

 

 

after snacking, they lie side by side on the blanket in the lumpy sand. dongwoo on his stomach, dozing with his head on his arms, chanshik watching the sky and brushing the back of his right hand up and down over dongwoo’s sunwarm back.

“it’s clouding,” he notes.

“mhm,” dongwoo grunts.

 

 

they run up the slope on naked feet, belongings hastily collected and bundled up in arms, chanshik’s t-shirt on inside-out, getting wetter and wetter by the second, the air blurry and grey with rain. the trees take most of the pour. dongwoo spreads his jacket over his backpack on the ground. his bangs hang in strands over his forehead again.

it doesn’t seem to let up.

“come,” chanshik says finally, stepping out. he wrings off his shirt. dongwoo watches him suspiciously.

“come,” chanshik says again, laughing. he grabs for dongwoo’s hand and pulls him to his feet. dongwoo laces their fingers and they walk slowly back to the water. it’s warmer now, warmer than the air. the surface is iron grey and prickly with impacts. they stay beneath, chasing each other in circles. catching, grinning; cold hands, skin slick. drops drip off chanshik’s nose.

dongwoo’s lips taste of rain.


	5. night (2)

it’s past ten when chanshik rings on dongwoo’s door. dongwoo answers with wet hair and a towel around his neck.

“chanshik?” he grins. “wassap?”

“can i crash here tonight?”

dongwoo studies him. then he says, “sure,” and sinks aside to let chanshik in.

 

 

“have you eaten?” he asks while helping chanshik move the couch cushions.

“yeah,” chanshik says.

dongwoo takes out sheets for him, blue and smelling of closet. when his bed is made, chanshik slumps down in the middle of it. the tv is on on mute.

“want a beer?”

“yeah.”

dongwoo brings two cold dewy cans and sits down next to him. commercials end and the bleak, aged glow of the late night sitcoms soaks over them. chanshik has seen them all before, and dongwoo too.

“so what’s up?” dongwoo asks.

“nothing,” chanshik says.

 

 

halfway into the second pair of beers, dongwoo’s phone starts buzzing on the coffee table.

“hey,” he answers, and chanshik can hear baro’s voice, clear though a bit roughened over the line, from the receiver;

“where’s chanshik?”

“what?” dongwoo says.

“do you know where chanshik is?”

dongwoo glances to his left. chanshik has sunk down a bit into the bedding. he shakes his head.

“how am i supposed to know,” dongwoo says, turning forward again. he takes a sip and puts his ankle up on his knee.

“he said he’d be here. he’s not at home.”

“hm,” dongwoo says.

 

 

he can’t sleep. after two hours of staring into the dark he gets up, slips his t-shirt on and sneaks out into the small kitchen. grimaces at glass clinking gently against glass, closes the cupboard door slowly, runs a small stream that trickles against the bottom of the sink.

he warms his naked knees against the radiator under the window, watching droplets of rain run down the black pane, glittering in white and yellow from the lights of the street outside.

“can’t sleep?”

chanshik starts and flips around. he hadn’t heard dongwoo come out.

“sorry,” he whispers. “did i wake you?”

dongwoo shakes his head politely. his face looks grey in the dark, his glasses casting shadows around his eyes.

chanshik glances down into his glass and empties it. “the couch’s a little short,” he says. “but it’s okay. i’ll be fine.”

dongwoo studies him. then he says, “come,” and takes a step back, turning away. chanshik doesn’t move. “come,” dongwoo says again.

chanshik closes the bedroom door behind them. dongwoo sits on his bed, just outside the dusty cone of light from the lamp on the wall above his pillows, scratching over his thigh.

“wall or edge?” he asks.

“what?”

“do you want the wall side or the edge side?”

chanshik fingers the leg hems of his underpants. “wall.”

dongwoo moves away to let him lie down, then slides in next to him and pulls the sheets up over them both, straight and stiff on their backs. he puts his right arm under his head, the other resting pressed against chanshik’s, soft t-shirt sleeves and arm skin, thighs ghosting against each other. thin layers of shadow stretch over the ceiling. rain patters against the window sill.

“well,” dongwoo says finally, reaching up to flick the light switch. “night.”

 

 

sunlight filters stinging through the blinds. chanshik rolls over, groans and cracks open his eyes. the other half of the mattress is empty and naked, sheet gathered in soft wrinkles.


	6. hyung!chan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ageswapped shinchan

it’s two days before their first mid-term, and despite junghwan’s valiant efforts to chill him out by assuring him that they “always go easy on the freshmen”, dongwoo is mildly freaking out. he was sick last week and missed a couple of lectures, and even though he made it through the chapters he was too dulled with fever to really absorb much of it. it’s not a huge chunk of his grades, but he still can’t shake this hovering need to Do Well.

he unhunches from the library table, back protesting, stiff and cracking, as he leans back in the chair with a groan. the page filled with notes is, his increasingly shitty handwriting despite, a very satisfying view. he stretches the fingers of his right hand, spreading and balling it to work out the pen cramp. looking aroud, he realizes he’s practically alone in his corner. he hadn’t even realized the people around him starting to file out. he pulls out his phone from his pocket. it’s almost nine. four hours.

he jumps halfway out of his chair when a hand lands heavily on his shoulder, and flips around to a wide, sharp-toothed grin.

“chanshik-hyung!” dongwoo squeaks.

“so you’re back now?” chanshik turns and leans back against the table edge next to dongwoo’s books. “you looked so deep in the zone earlier i didn’t even dare come say hi.”

“ha ha,” dongwoo laughs, trying to ignore the warm swelling in his chest that suddenly appeared at the thought of chanshik wanting to say hi to him. “i’m cramming,” he says, and feels oddly grown-up. this is college. doesn’t matter how many nights he spent cramming in high-school, this feels different. chanshik probably knows that difference too. even if he’s two years older, they’re both in college. they’re both grown-ups, technically. “mid-terms.”

chanshik makes a knowing hum of companionship. “are you gonna pull an all-nighter?”

dongwoo fiddles with his pen. they’re practically the same height, standing up, but with chanshik hovering above him like this, eyeing him with his falcon gaze, dongwoo feels small. “i hope not.”

“good,” chanshik says, nodding. “non-REM is crucial for memory consolidation. basically, you need to crash for shit to stick.”

he laughs; his short, airy cackle, and dongwoo laughs too, lighter now, angling his face so the rim of his glasses cover chanshik’s eyes. his mouth slowly comes to a thoughtful purse, one dongwoo realizes he already recognizes.

“have you had dinner yet?” chanshik asks.

“no,” dongwoo admits, noticing suddenly how hollow his stomach feels. he’s lived on coffee and candy bars since lunch.

“i was just heading out, actually. wanna join?”

“i don’t know…” dongwoo mumbles, looking at his pile of books. “i’ve still got a lot left to do.”

“come on, you need to eat something?”

“i’m already behind,” dongwoo says. “i really should do a couple more hours…”

“not taking breaks doesn’t make you a better student. you have to let your brain rest once in a while, you know.” chanshik leans down, sideways, to catch his gaze. when it flickers to him, tempted, his face slides into a smile, warm and easy like a spring sunrise. dongwoo’s chest swells again. suddenly all his limbs have gone weak and slack. “my treat.”

dongwoo’s voice comes out high and thin; “okay.”

chanshik grins wider. “okay?”

“yeah.”

chanshik hops off the table and hitches his bag higher on his shoulder. “okay, let’s go.”


	7. morning

chanshik wakes up from a dip and a rustle, the warmth at his side disappearing and the sheets falling empty by his arm. he flips around on his stomach, face mushed into the pillow, and doesn’t even care that his voice sounds whiny and gross; “don’t go.”

dongwoo laughs quietly, slipping on his sweats. “i have to pee.”

“come back,” chanshik begs. he can’t bother opening his eyes, just making out dongwoo’s blurry form in the fog between his slitted eyelids.

“i will.”

the door falls softly shut and chanshik turns back towards the wall, settling in, drifting back to sleep. he has no track of time in the shallows of his slumber, floating in the outskirts of a dream.

then he feels a pair of lips brush against his naked back. the mattress shifts underneath him, and the lips trail upwards, pausing a couple of times to press against his shoulder blade and the curve of his neck.

dongwoo slides down next to him again and hooks a hand over his waist to pull him against him, claiming him as his little spoon despite chanshik’s weak and barely displeased groan.

“your breath tickles.”

dongwoo moves his nose away from his neck, tightening his arms. “sorry.”


End file.
